


Reason Is Treason

by rissalf, SilentSinger



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anonymous Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Not A Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 19:26:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8546119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rissalf/pseuds/rissalf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentSinger/pseuds/SilentSinger
Summary: Set during S03E08: Blood Rush.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](http://okimi79.tumblr.com/post/152894690154/sad-heartbroken-frustrated-oswald-just-goes-to-fox) ask.

There are times when one must address one’s baser instincts. Oswald Cobblepot was, of course, no stranger to these impulses. When a person’s intrinsic affinity is to kill without remorse, such desires are extremely difficult to ignore.

Which brings Oswald to his current location. The Drunk Poet, affectionately dubbed by its clientele as “The Sure Thing”, is a gay club on the outskirts of Gotham City. Its reputation is so repugnant, so wholly abhorrent, that it makes The Foxglove look like Sunday school, in comparison.

A part of Oswald is wondering why the fuck he’s here. The part of him that believed Edward would reciprocate his feelings – had he dared reveal them in the first place. The fire inside of him that burned brightly right before Isabella doused him with ice water. 

Isabella.  _ Isa-fucking-bella. _ What even was her last name, anyway? Isabella Homewrecker? Isabella StealYourFella? Oswald scoffs as he surveys his surroundings: battered leather seating, wrought iron tables and and a far-too-small dance floor that is no more than a mess of heaving, sweating bodies – an overwhelming amalgamation of perspiration and cheap cologne emanating from its debauched centre. Assorted articles of clothing are strewn about here and there – amidst the half-drunk cocktails and lines of white powder – and the dim glow of the maroon light fixtures illuminates the patrons in such a manner that everyone appears utterly faceless and utterly impersonal.

Now isn’t the time to be thinking of her; he’d deal with her later. Tonight is reserved purely for Oswald Cobblepot.

He approaches the stained and pitted oak-topped bar, and orders a large brandy, followed by two more. Ever mindful of not drawing too much attention to himself (not that any of these partygoers would even recognise their mayor, in the state they’re all evidently in), Oswald leans against the bar and observes the carnal milieu around him in quiet contemplation.

He sizes up his options – mentally cataloguing heights and weights and all manner of attributes, as though he were doing little more than selecting a rump roast from the butcher. It all feels startlingly abstract. But really, Oswald concludes, a piece of flesh is all that any of these men would ever be to him.

Exasperated at how thoroughly  _ wrong _ they all appear, and eager to leave this deplorable dive as quickly as possible, Oswald downs the remainder of his drink – resigned to settle for the first marginally acceptable gentleman who crosses his path – and forces himself from the relative security of the bar. 

He’s altogether thankful for his tenebrous surroundings, and hopes to God that no one saw him enter this pit of depravity. In truth, Oswald doesn’t know how to even begin to make inroads with the writhing throng of revellers – all of whom seem wholly entranced by the nearest sweaty physique. And so, he hangs back – with all the timidity of a child watching from the edge of the swimming pool as the other children splash and play, until a glint of neon from the jukebox draws his attention.

His eyes fall upon a gentleman who is perhaps a couple of inches shorter than Edward, and maybe twenty pounds heavier, but the effulgent glare of the jukebox renders the man’s gaze unreadable behind a pair of dark-rimmed glasses. Coupled with the stoic, tight-lipped expression, the dingy lighting and the brandy in Oswald’s belly, he’s more than passable.

Before he has time to think things over  _ too _ much – mustering up his courage and swallowing any fatuous notions of dignity – Oswald approaches the fellow.

They don’t speak; they barely even make eye contact. A simple nod towards the bathroom is all this particular tryst needs to initiate.

****

It’s fair to say that this – pants unceremoniously wadded around his ankles, hands splayed over a wall of graffiti in a what may very well be the grimiest bathroom in Gotham – is a low point for Oswald Cobblepot.

_ No, Oswald. The low point was when he told you he’s in love. _

Oswald swallows the lump in his throat as the man’s rough, calloused hands spread his cheeks, and winces with surprise when the fellow hawks a large gob of saliva there, too. 

The warmth isn’t entirely unwelcome, however, and Oswald allows himself the courtesy of relaxing as best he can, just before his partner lines up his cock and pushes inside with a low, groaned “Ffuuuuck”. 

There is no buildup at all, no hesitation, not even a considerate inquiry as to whether Oswald is ready to have a man’s dick rammed into his ass – and it’s quickly apparent that a paltry trickle of spit is nowhere near enough to make this a painless affair.

Oswald’s small frame slams against the cool wall of the toilet cubicle as his partner buries himself deeper and deeper, fingers boring into Oswald’s hips as though the man is trying to rip through the skin and grab hold of the bones themselves. 

Oswald considers asking him to stop, to wait, to just fucking  _ take a breather _ while he adjusts to the intrusion, but it’s impossible at this point to form the words. And so he closes his eyes, a choked whimper escaping his throat with every agonising inch, and prays that the man’s stamina is nowhere near as oppressive as his girth.

_ Stop pretending you don’t enjoy this. _

Although it’s folly, it’s Edward’s voice that he hears. That silken growl, impish and knowing, every word spoken with libidinous intent. It’s easier this way, to imagine Ed is the one leaving bruises on his skin and grunting in his ear, to imagine that it’s Ed’s thick cock filling him so full he fears he’ll split in two.

Would Edward play so rough? Oswald suspects so, and honestly? He hopes so. He imagines how Ed might appear in such a position: powerful, lascivious gaze, flushes of red on his high, perfect cheekbones and beads of sweat adorning his low brow. Teeth bared oh-so-slightly as he presses further, as he claims Oswald completely – and Oswald would let him. He’d let him do whatever the fuck he pleased. A small, soft moan escapes Oswald’s lips as his companion grasps his shoulder firmly, and begins to move.

It’s deep. It’s brutal. It’s violent. Good  _ God, _ what he wouldn’t give for a bit of proper lubrication. He’s being stretched and broken with every brutish shove, used as though he’s nothing more than a lifeless lump of meat to be consumed and discarded without a second thought. His partner thrusts ruthlessly, endlessly, tirelessly – and the voice in Oswald’s head emits a callous chuckle as his face is forced against the cold, clammy wall.

_ You’re fucking disgusting. _

Tears prickle at Oswald’s eyes as this thought emerges, and he sucks in a shuddering breath as he fists his softening cock in desperation. Is this really how he wants it? This isn’t how it should be. This is too much. Ed would never hurt him like this. This is-

_ Don’t kid yourself, Oswald. This is how I fuck her, you know. _

Oswald supposes that it is. He pictures them together – Isabella’s long legs wrapped around Edward’s waist, her porcelain features flushed with pink and her eyes squeezed tight as he slams her forcibly against a wall-

“No, no,  _ fuck!” _ he hisses, and whether it’s as a result of this rumination, or because of a particularly savage thrust, Oswald can’t be sure.

_ More, Oswald. Moan for me. Scream for me. Let me hear you. _

And scream Oswald does. It’s drowned out by the thumping bass from the barroom, but he roars, almost defiantly, like a desperate animal caught in a hunter’s snare, squirming between twin walls of flesh and metal. 

“Yeah, fuck, that’s nice,” his partner grunts in his ear. “You like having that tight little hole stretched.”

The fellow drives into him with an impervious chuckle then, too pleased with himself to care about his partner’s anguish, and Oswald’s howl cuts into a full-blown sob. Face sodden with sweat and tears, Oswald pounds the wall and wails in a fit of feeble opposition.

_ What’s the matter, Oswald? Don’t you want me? Don’t you want me to fuck you until you can hardly stand? Don’t you want me to ruin you – utterly, completely? _

Not like this. Not when it isn’t real. 

_ It’s never going to be real, Oswald. Never. _

Therein lies the contemptible fact at the crux of all of this. The sobering truth of the matter – the knowledge, festering deep in his gut like an untreated wound, that this – this desperate, pathetic fantasy – is as close as he’ll ever get to fucking Edward Nygma.

“P-please,” Oswald manages to croak, tears searing a murky path as mascara bleeds down his cheeks. 

It’s all he's able to utter before the fellow clamps a meaty hand over his mouth and hammers into him – once, twice more, throwing the entirety of his weight into each thrust as he comes at last with a guttural bellow. 

His own cock neglected (though he’s long since past the point of arousal), Oswald can only shiver in shock as his partner pulls out in one agonising, protracted movement – his hot, liquor-infused breath huffing against the back of Oswald’s neck as sweat and semen – and blood, for all he really knows – slide unpleasantly down the crack of his ass.

Now that he’s had his fun, the taller man wastes no time in wrapping things up, hastily tucking himself back into his shorts, and Oswald numbly shuffles around in the cramped space. 

It’s an awkward exchange but they face each other, finally willing to make eye contact, as though the irreversible act they’ve just committed demands that niceties be exchanged.

And as they regard one another fully for the first time, Oswald internally commends himself for his choice. Amidst the sweat and ruddy complexion – save for the piercing blue eyes – he really does resemble Ed.

“Well,” Oswald begins. This isn’t a situation he finds himself in often. What do people do now?

_ “Oh, thank you for fucking me senseless, kind stranger. We’ll have to do it again sometime.” _

Thankfully, the potential pleasantries are not to be observed, as the man furrows his brow and peers at Oswald with a somewhat quizzical expression.

“Mayor Cobblepot?”

Oswald doesn’t even think twice. He simply reaches into his breast pocket, retrieves the gold-handled switchblade therein and slices the guy’s neck in one fluid movement – the resulting spray of blood peppering his exquisitely tailored suit with crimson, as the fellow hits the begrimed floor with a resounding thud.

Pulling up his crumpled pants and smoothing his attire as best he can, Oswald attempts to compose himself, taking deep, steadying breaths as he wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve. He’s sure he must look completely ruined and thoroughly wretched, and he considers calling Olga to have her draw him a bath. For now though, he’ll simply have to make do with splashing cold water on his face to wash away the inky tears and smattering of blood, before he leaves this execrable shithole and never looks back.

 

There are times when one must address one’s baser instincts. And now it was time to deal with Isabella.

**Author's Note:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> [okimi79.tumblr.com](http://okimi79.tumblr.com)
> 
> [riddlelvr.tumblr.com](http://riddlelvr.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you enjoyed this you're a terrible person, and you also might be interested in our other joint works: [Where Did You Sleep Last Night?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11199555), [The Bird and the Worm](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6211234?view_full_work=true) and [Lost Souls Forever](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9825767?view_full_work=true). :)


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